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FRENCH-CANADIAN VERSE 



W ^t0ncf[^-Canadiar\VQvsQ- ^^ 



French-Canadian 
Verse 



Written and Illustrated 
by 

William Edward Baubie 



ntrt 



CHICAGO 

NINETEEN HUNDRED AND SEVENTEEN 






French-Canadian Verse 

written and illustrated 

by 

William Edward Baubie 

Published by 

The Lakeside Press 

Chicago 

Copyright, 1917 

by 

William Edward Baubie 

Foreign Copyrights 
Reserved 



DEC 28 1917 



A481148 



To my most respected 

son-in-law 

WILLIAM Alexander McLaughlin 

of Chicago, Illinois, 

these verses are dedicated 

with sincere admiration 

and affection 



CONTENTS 



The Rosie Belle Teeneau 1 

The Musk-rat 8 

My Old Canoe 11 

Down in Old Quebec 14 

The Courrier 18 

A Strange Romance 20 

Dinner a la Carte 26 

Joe Lozon, the Pot-hunter Man .... 29 
Genealogy of Batteece Tourangeau .33 
Ah'll Nevaire Go Hunt for de Mush-rat No 

More 37 

A Story of the Marsh 40 

My Dear Old Dad 43 

Old-time Fishing on Detroit River .... 44 

The Man at the Bow 48 

A Lesson in Table Manners 51 

The Race at Petit Cote 54 

My Dog Francois 59 

A Legend of the Detroit River 63 

The Habitant's Lament 70 



PREFACE 

THESE French-Canadian poems were selected 
from a number that the author has written 
from time to time and are those that are 
more easily read and understood by the average 
English-speaking person. 

There is really no such uniformity of dialect 
among the "habitants" that could be followed 
with any degree of certainty. Every French- 
Canadian has his or her own peculiar method of 
expression in the use of the English language. 
Some have difficulty in the use of the pronoun, 
some again speak the English fluently and almost 
faultlessly, and it is only on rare occasions that a 
slight misuse of a word or expression exposes their 
origin to the close observer; but the remaining and 
more numerous class go battling along through 
the verbs, pronouns, and adjectives at will — un- 
affectedly but ruthlessly. 

These verses are, therefore, not offered as a cri- 
terion of the French-Canadian dialect, but merely 
the English used by some of the types that the 
writer has observed and known. 

Many years of the writer's life were spent in 
old Quebec and Montreal, where he was thrown in 
personal contact with the "habitants," young and 
old; and his close association with them ripened 
from mere acquaintance into friendship, and, later, 
[xv] 



«iQ3) 



into affectionate regard. It was, however, in the 
rural districts and upon the lakes, rivers, and 
marshes of Canada and the bordering territories, 
where the writer has fished and hunted, that he 
has heard the real Canadian patois spoken, as 
only one may hear it, and these humble efforts 
are mainly the result of such travel. 

Many of the characters about whom these 
stories are told existed in real life, and the old 
inhabitants of the localities mentioned will recall 
them; and many of the occurrences related have 
in reality happened. 

The writer begs to say, in closing, that these 
verses are furnished by him as a means of enter- 
tainment and amusement, and it is not his desire 
or intention to ridicule or discredit those of the 
old French-Canadian blood. 

The Author. 



LEGEND OF THE 
ROSIE BELLE TEENEAU 

DE Rosie Belle Teeneau was wan vere fine 
batteau, 
Was steam barge hon de reever, good many year 

ago. 
She always looked so neat, wid de beeg moskeeto 

fleet, 
An Ah'll tole you, mah boy, she was hard boat to 
beat. 

Down de reever if you geev her a good chance to go 
From Isle au Peche above, to Pointe Peelee below, 
An if de wind she blow hon her stern from behaind 
Shees beat all de vassalle an de boat you can faind. 

Jean Batteece DuChene was de captaine of dat 

barge ; 
Hees not so vere small, an hees not so vere large. 
But hees tick-set an chaunkay, he go two hunnard 

poun. 
An way it in de stocken, if hees got som stocken 

hon. 

Batteece wife, an bote hees boy, an Angelique hees 

dauter. 
Was de bes crew of de Rosie Belle, wen she go hon 

de water. 
Each wan dat crew could maike de cook, or trow 

de hank also. 
Could run de hengine down below, or maike de 

wissel blow. 



From summer tam up to de fall, Batteece dont 
wear no shoe at all; 




JEAN BATTEECE DU CHENE 



Som-tam for style he wear som pant, som-tam som 

overhaul. 
An when he prominade de deck, wid hees uniforme 

all hon, 
Mon Dieu! dat's grande! he look joust laike de 

great Napoleon. 

"Mah bes crew is mah familee," Batteece he 

always say. 
When all de work was finish, hon de hind end of 

de day. 
"Ah smoke de pipe so ezay, as Ah'm laying hon de 

bed; 
For Ah know if we lose monay hon de Rosie, we're 

ahead." 



^ ^vencfy-Canadiat] Varse- 



Wan naight dey stop at Druiliard's dock, for taike 

wan barl away; 
It might be feesh, it might be pork, no wan on 

board can say. 
Was tickette hon dat barl wat say she go to Pete 

Marcotte 
Wat keep de sailor boarding-hous at Ecorse near 

Wyandotte. 

Dere's no plaice hon de water, every sailor man will 

say. 
Where de wind she blow, an blow so hard, as hon 

de Ecorse Bay. 
De naight he taike dat barl hon board, she blow an 

blow som more; 
It look joust laike beeg tornadeau was coming 

doun de shore. 

Batteece aint got de educate, but he notice raight- 

away 
Hees hav wan hell-of-a-tam dat naight in crossing 

Ecorse Bay. 
"How many man we got hon board?" he ask de 

hengineer. 
"Dere's tree below"; an Batteece say, "Send haf- 

a-dem up here." 

"Clar de deck!" Batteece he spik. "Taike doun de 

smok-stack too. 
An trow de hank as fas you can, dat's de bes ting 

you can do." 
"We got no tring," de mate he sing, "so de hank 

aint work so well." 
Den Batteece yell, "Sai, who de hell is de boss of 

dees vassalle?" 



De naight was black wen de storm attack de Rosie 

Belle Teeneau; 
She hit her hard above, below, she hit her in de mid 

also. 
De lightning flash an hit dat barl, an maike de 

noise much louder. 
For debarl bust up de Rosie Belle, — it's chock-full 

of gun-pauder. 

Batteece was sitting hon dat barl, when she go off 

for fair. 
He hav no tam for shew de rag, for he fly up in de 

air; 
An de wind she blow hon Ecorse Bay, she blow 

lackell som more, 
An de Rosie Belle, she don feel well, shee's haf mile 

from de shore. 

Madame DuChene she go insane, an jaump doun 

hon de water; 
De only life preserve was grab by Angelique, hees 

dauter, 
An bote de boy was dive away from de Rosie Belle 

Teeneau. 
Dey joust hav tam for save its-self before she sink 

below. 



Jules Tourangeau, wat spear de frog, an leeve doun 

hon de mash, 
Was bring hees yawl, he hear de call, he also hear 

de splash; 
He find de wife an bote de boy, he also find de 

dauter ; 
An soon he can grab hold-o-dem, he pull it out de 

wat'er. 



Now if you go to Ecorse Bay, de ole tam habitant 

will say 
Dat if som of de skeetow fleet was sailing doun dat 

way, 
Dey pass a long, long way around de Rosie Belle's 

last sleeping ground: 
De sailors fear, from wat dey hear, dat Batteece 

goste she proul around. 

An wen de naight was dark down dere, all de fisher- 
man dey swear 

Dat Batteece an de Rosie Belle was sailing hon de 
air; 

You can see mirage, also de barge, an you also see 
de wreck 

Wile Jean Batteece geev two-tree cheer, as he 
prominade de deck. 

Wen dees mirage was pass away, it's quiet roun de 
Ecorse Bay; 

De naight wind moan, de bull-frog groan, in de 
vere sam ole way; 

De snap an maud-hen trai to rest in de weed long- 
side de shore; 

Dey hav no fun, for de potter's gun was maike dem 
fly som more. 

Dey look for Batteece high an low, for two-tree 

year or more, 
But no wan find hees boday or de clothes de 

captaine wore, 
Till wan fine day hon Ecorse Bay, Joe Lozon it 

was pass dat way — 
Find Batteece spendaire an hees pants joust at de 

break of day. 



Lozon he plants poor Batteece pants in de sand 
long-side de shore, 

He put de spendaire in also, for he can't find notting 
more; 

Hees got no stone for monument, so he use a 
feeshing stave, 

An wid som paint, an paint-brush too, hees dec- 
orate de grave. 

Joe Lozon spell som word hon dere, for eppitaffe he 

say; 
Ah ain't can read or write messef, Ah ain't brot up 

dat way. 
But if you geev attention, Ah'll tole you all de rest. 
So please excoose mah Englishe, Ah try to do 

mah best. 

EPPITAFFE 

Here lies de last, also de hend, of Jean Batteece 

DuChene ; 
Hees got blow up hon Ecorse Bay, while sailing 

hon de main. 
He don't expect to go so quick, to taike hees seat 

in heaven, 
For he made de trip hon stannard tarn, from nine 

to haf-pas leven. 

An when de good Ange Gabrielle, will maike de 

trompette blow 
Batteece he will be boarding dere, an hees familee 

also. 
Hees troub dey was all qvaire now, hees pants he'll 

lose no more, 
For de captaine of de Rosie Belle has found a 

peaceful shore. 



yrencfy-Canadiaty Verse- 

4 ^ 



MORAL 

You sailor man wat hav som wife, an have to leeve 

awhile, 
Steer clear away from Ecorse Bay, at least for two- 

tree mile, 
An keep your eye hon any barl, if you don't know 

heem firsrate, 
An taike no chance to spoil your pants by sitting 

hon de freight. 
Som-tam dat barl hav feesh inside, an som-tam 

flour from de mill, 
Som-tam it's Walker wiskay too, wat com from 

Walkerville. 
De wiskay she don't hurt you much, but she don't 

do you much good, 
De flour she is de staff of life, an feesh de finest 

food; 
But if gun-pauder's in dat barl, be careful wat you 

do: 
Put out your pipe an cigarette, if you know wat's 

good for you. 
For de faudere of me was tole me so, an Ah beleeve 

mah fadere 
Deres noting can raise hell so quick as de ole tam 

gun-pauder. 




THE MUSK-RAT 

"T^E pauvre leetle mush-rat wat leeve hon de mash, 
■'— ' Wid hees fonnay black nose an hees fancay 

moustache, 
In hees good coat of fur, he jaump roun so freeskay 
You tink dat hees ballay was choc fule of wheeskay. 

He don't do no harm, when hees com roun de farm, 
Only borrow few ting, joust for keep hessef warm; 
For de wintaire will com, an hees dere in hees 

shaintay. 
Where hees saving de grub, an he always have 

plaintay. 



If dey let heem alone, dat poor leetle felleure, 
Hees mind hees own beesness, an leeve in hees celler, 



But som laike to shoot heem, for mak up de stew; 
Ah tink it's too bad for to keel heem, don you? 

Le bon Dieu was maike heem so purtay an fat, 
He geev heem more style dan de rest of hees rat ; 
An He want heem to leev widdout troubel or fear 
An raise all hees familee, in two tree year. 

But som son of a felleure wat carries a gaun 
Hees sneak hon de mash, joust for hav it som fun, 
An he chase it an shoot it wid buck-shot an 

pauder 
An cook it wid honnion, for maike up de chaudere. 

Dere ain't much societay down where he go. 
Of course dere's de maud-hen de fraeg, an shipeau, 
But dere vere poor companie, a leetle too slow 
Not in de same class, wid our mush-rat, you know. 

De maud-hen's gran-fadere was voyageure dock. 
Hees modere a chicken, wat play in hard luck, 
De fraeg an de shipeau was stupid an slow, 
De mush-rat don't mix wid de companie so low. 

So de mush-rat he leev wid hees own familee; 
Don't run roun at naight, for dere's noting to see. 
An if som bull-fraeg or shipeau hees meet, 
He joust wink hees eye, as he pass doun de street. 

He carry som musk, but it don smell so bad. 

For he don play dose trick, like de skaunk wen he 

mad. 
Hees clean leetle beast, an he work all he can, 
An behave hessef better dan good many man. 

Wen you take off de skin of dat leetle mush-rat, 
An scrape off de musk an forget about dat, 



Wat a beautifule fur, mon Dieu! dat is fine, 
She sell for two dollar, at any ole time. 

De mink an de seal an de beaver also 
Was cousin wid our leetle mush-rat, you know. 
An offen swell laday, wat buy seal skin saque, 
She paying for mush-rat, to put hon her back. 



MORAL 

Everting in dees worl hav som kind of smell : 
Som smell of de may-flower, an som smell lackell. 
But if you wash offen, an try to leev clean. 
You're sure to be sweeter dan most king or queen. 

De fine citay laday put de musk hon for style. 

But offen shees go widdout bath for a while; 

But le bon Dieu was maike de poor mush-rat dat 

way, 
So he carry hees musk, but he wash every day. 




RETROSPECTION 



OLD CANOE 



AH see you befor me, mah faithfule canoe, 
' Your getting so ole dey don use you no more ; 
But dere's no-bodday knows you as well as Ah do, 
For we traveled togedder, along many shore. 



You was born in de vere sam contray as me, 
Hon de farm of mah fadere, so long, long ago ; 

You com from de stock of de virgin pine tree. 
Wile Ah'm of de habitant stock, as you know. 

We grew up togedder, as tam passed away. 
But we never was getting acquaint, not at all, 

Till de tam wen dose felleure was chop you dat 
day — 
You made de bush ring wid de sound of your fall. 



An dey maike a canoe wid de bes part of you. 
You were healthy an young, de purest of pine ; 



No wrinkles was dere, you were solid an true. 
Dere's no wood to-day in de markette so fine. 

If dose felleure was leev you alone where you grew 
You could stay in de bush, an be much beeger 
tree, 

But still you have traveled, an only a few 

Could hav such a good tarn as you had wid me. 

As we drifted in moonlaight, so soft an so clear, 
Wile Ah lay hon mah blanket to tak a good rest, 

Den Ah feel satisfy, for dere's noting to fear; 
For Ah'm sleeping in you, an Ah'm dreaming de 
best. 

By de clear pebble beach, as Ah paddle along, 
Ah can see in de wataire de blue of de sky; 

De bird from de shore was singing dere song, 
Den Ah tink it's too bad we all hav to die. 

Only wanse in a while you tipped over wid me 

An geev me mah bath for de week in advance; 
Den Ah'm mad an Ah'm tinking how crankay you 
be. 
An Ah swear nevaire more will Ah geev you de 
chance. 



Den Ah'm tinking once more of de evening before: 
Ah was out wid de boys till de hour was so late, 

An we had a few drink, an we had a few more. 
Perhaps it's mah fault if you don't go firsrate. 

Mah f^ithfule, mah silent ole friend of de past, 
It's only de good Ah remember in you; 

You was mah ole pal, from de first to de last, — 
It's hard for to spic, should Ah tell you adieu. 



You've been in de dry dock for more dan a year; 

Lak messef, you are weary, an out of de race. 
Your beauty an courage was leev you, Ah fear. 

But surely de ole age is not a deesgrace. 



So Ah'm leeving you dere, in de mud an de clay, 
In de plaice where you com from, mah poor ole 
canoe ; 

An when Ah lay quiet, hon de ole farm som day, 
We'll begin at de starting post, both me an you. 




THE OLD TOWN 



DOWN IN OLD QUEBEC 
A HabitanVs Story 



IN seventeen honnard an feeftay-nine, 
It's de early fall an de weddere's faine, 
De soldat Francais was in line 
Down in ole Quebec. 

Dere in de camp, wid de great Montcalm, 
Up by de Plains of Abraham, 
For Englande de French don care a dam — 
Down in ole Quebec. 



But in de darkness of de night. 
Creeping softly up de hight. 
Dose Redcoat com on de hill to fight — 
Down in ole Quebec. 

[14] 



It's joust befor de break of day, 
As de bugle sound de reveiller, 
Dere's a courrier wat com our way, 
Down in ole Quebec. 

De news was travel everywhere 
Dat Wolfe an all hees men was dere. 
Montcalm joust smile, for he don't care, 
Down in ole Quebec. 

"Aux-Armes! Avancez!" We sound de call 
An de soldat Francais wan an all 
Taike hees plaice to faight or fall, 
Down in ole Quebec. 

De mistey sun rose up dat day 
To shed it's light along de way 
An lead Montcalm to victory, 
Down in ole Quebec. 

De sparkling ray from dees saime sun 
Shines hon de Redcoat every- wan. 
Laike stars of steel hon de Englishe gun, 
Down in ole Quebec. 

De cannon roar an de grape shot fly, 
De smoke was folding to de sky, 
De ole flint muskette maike reply, 
Down in ole Quebec. 

Each side com on, de faight's begun. 
We quickly maike dose Redcoat run 
Wid de sabre an de gun — 

Down in ole Quebec. 

We charge de Redcoat raight away. 
It was too hot for dem to stay, 



But we hear bad news: dere's hell to pay 
Down in ole Quebec. 

Joust in de triumph of de fight, 
Montcalm was die right in our sight, 
An de morning sun turned into night, 
Down in ole Quebec. 

Dat's true, de good Montcalm was fall. 
Mon Dieu! dat news com laike a pall; 
It hit each Frenchman wan an all, 
Down in ole Quebec. 

De Redcoat cheer; dey know dat sign. 
An quickly too dey form in line: 
Montcalm was gone an dere feeling fine, 
Down in ole Quebec. 



De Englishe faight laike hell dat day, 
I An dearly too our armey pay; 

L'espris Francais was pass away — 
Down in ole Quebec. 

Dose Redcoat wun de battle fair: 
Step by step dey faight us dere. 
Montcalm was gone; an de French don't care, 
Down in ole Quebec. 

De Englishe raise dere flag on high; 
De battle's wun, when we hear de cry 
Dat Wolfe was falling down to die, 
Down in ole Quebec. 

De genral Wolfe was dying fast. 
Saint George's cross was hon de mast, 
So he say he die content at last, 
Down in ole Quebec. 



^r0ncf\-Canadiar\ VerSQ- 



An befor Montcalm was pass away 
He want to die raight off, he say, 
Before de Redcoat win de day 
Down in ole Quebec. 

De French an Englishe leeve dere still, 
De Englishe up on top de hill 
An de French down in de ole Bas-ville, 
Down in ole Quebec. 

De Englishe own de town to-day 
But dey leave our good religion stay 
An de ole French Code we all obey, 
Down in ole Quebec. 

Dere in de Haut-ville dees story's told: 
Of Montcalm de brave an of Wolfe de bold ; 
De monument's built in de days of old, 
Down in ole Quebec. 

Faithfule unto death each wan, 
Never known to turn or run, 
Each contrey lost a noble son, 
Down in ole Quebec. 



.3*51 






THE COURRIER 

(Old-time Mail Carrier) 

WHEN de wind from de north she was blowing 
and blowing, 
An from de dark cloud she was snowing and snow- 
ing, 
De habitant know it's de wintaire dat's round, 
For many long month dere'll be snow hon de 

ground ; 
An he stay in de house, so quiet all day, 
An smokes hees ole pipe wid de Canaday grey. 

De snowbird she come wid de cold an de blow; 

Along wid de storm, in de cloud she will go; 

At de break of de cloud, wen de snow start to fall, 

Dat petit oiseaux she will whissel an call. 

Dere's a man in de storm wat she meets every day, 

Dat man is de postman, de brave courrier. 

[18] 



Laike de snowbird, for wind or for storm he don 

care : 
Hees tuff an hees healty, he'll go anywhere 
Hees "bottes au sauvage" will keep hees leg 

warm, 
An hees "capuchon coat" will keep off de storm. 
Ah, here he comes now hon hees lively snowshoe; 
Hees waving hees hand, — dere's a letter for you. 



A STRANGE ROMANCE 



MAMZEL Elizay Tatreault she was looking 
for a man, 
Was in de markette twentay year; she do de bes she 

can 
For faind som felleure wat was hav it plaentay of 

de cash; 
She's doing all her possibel for try to mak de mashe. 



Wen Mamzel Lizay she go out into de companie, 
Her voice was always soft an sweet, lak honey she 

can be; 
But dat's de bluff wid Lizay, dat voice ain't hon 

de square. 
For eef she mak her temper go, you'd faind de 

dev' was dere. 



She's beeg laday, dat Mees Lizay, an every-boday 

knows 
She's coming from de contray, where de vegetable 

grows. 
But now she wears de dress so short, de bronze 

was hon her shoe. 
An she's looking laike a poulette, an a fancay 

poulette too. 

She's sitting dere an waiting in de park alone wan 

day 
Wen Pete Soleau was happen to com along dat 

way. 
Dat Soleau's looking quite as well as any felleure 

roun. 
But hees de beegest liar wat's leeving in de town. 




THE PROPOSAL 



Mamzel Tatreault was dress just so, all in de first 

class style, 
So Pete was look her ovaire, for quiet a leetle 

while. 
To heem she looked lak millionaire wid plaentay 

propertay, 
So hees kneel raight down before her an dees is 

wat he say: 



"Oh Mees Tatreault, eef you could know how 

much Ah tink of you ! 
De only ting is murdere. Ah would not do for you. 
Ah'm rich, Ah'm fit. Ah must admit, Ah'm quite 

good looking too, 
Ah've house an lot an cash hon hand, an mortgage 

quite a few." 



Mees Lizay she was soffen up, wen she hear wat 
he was say; 



She almost faint wen Pete Soleau was name de 

wedding day. 
She's positiv her ole naightmare was surely coming 

true, 
An she kees heem two-tree tam or more, as any 

gal would do. 

Raight after dat beeg love affair was pulled off in 

de park, 
Soleau was keeping vere quiet, hees always in de 

dark. 
Dey don't wait long for marry, an de wedding it 

was swell — 
A justice of de peacefule town he operate it well. 

But all de cash he brag about was just som borrow 

gold. 
It don't tak Lizay vere long to see de lie hees told: 
Hees got no house, or lot, or cash, but it's all de 

odder way, 
An de mortgage wat he brag about, was de wans 

he had to pay. 

Wen Lizay Tatreault know de fact about dat Pete 

Soleau 
She call heem "skaunk" an "pollison," an a few 

more name also. 
She sai, "You go, you Pete Soleau, Ah can't stand 

you no more!" 
An she put de bromstic hon behaind, as he pass 

tru de door. 



So Pete he mak it up hees mind dat soocide de 

best; 
He ting he will go drown hessef, an geev de town a 

rest. 



So every naight at twilaight in de mash he tak 

hees seat — 
Hees trai so hard to get de brace; de sand don't 

com to Pete. 

Wan naight hees down dere all alone, hees feeling 

sad an sore. 
He fills hees pant wid brickbat, so he can't float 

any more; 
He try to tink of wan good ting, he do in all hees 

laife, 
But de best wan he remembers was de tam he 

cheat hees waife. 

De wind was softly moaning along de mash dat 

naight, 
De bull-frog he was groaning, an he groan wid all 

his might; 
De maud-hen cackel all de tam, she always do her 

best — 
It's de evening of wan lovely day, an nature was 

at rest. 

De tam was com to drown hessef, if he only had 

de sand; 
Dere's no wan dere to hold heem, hees long way 

from de land, 
It up to heem to maike de jaump, or maike wan 

leetle fall, 
An say, "Here goes Pete Soleau, here goes notting 

at all." 



He feels dat wataire wid hees hand: "Mon Dieu!" 

dat wataire's cold!" 
Hees tinking of de bath he took, back in de days 

of old. 



J[ ^renc^-Can adiat} Verse- 



He hesitate a leetle bet, hees tinking of hees fate — 
Dat's de only tam de man was saved, wat do de 
hesitate. 

An ole maud-hen she cackel first, an den begin to 

scream, 
A shi-peau try to mock heem, wile flying down de 

stream, 
A beeg bull-frog, wats hon a log, he bark at Pete 

Soleau, 
He wake up all de odder frog, an every-wan let 

go. 

Bapteme! such lively musique, he never hear 

before ; 
So Pete was hesitate again, den he hesitate some 

more. 
He trow de brick-bat from hees pant, an in de 

mash dey rolled, 
An he say, "To hell wid soo-cide — de wataire's 

too dam cold!" 

Mees Lizay do de washing now, she also do de 

scrub, 
Pete's working hon de wringer, an somtam hon 

de tub; 
But shee's de boss of Pete Soleau: hees got no 

more to say, 
For he don't forget de evening of dat quiet lovely 

day. 



^rencfy-Canadiaty Vqvsq- 



MORAL 

Wen you was go get marry, don't start off wid a lie, 
For de dirt is hon de surface, fore de washing she 

was dry. 
Don't figure for de cash alone, remember wat Ah 

say. 
For to marry joust for hav a home will never, 

never pay. 
Don't marry joust becos your fokes was laike your 

pardner well. 
For de wan wat's fit to do de job's de bes wan 

wat can tell; 
But if you have som good respect for de wan 

engage to you, 
Dat is de bes way to begin, you'll faind mah word 

was true. 
For dat's de love wat's true an pure, an dat's de 

love will stay, 
An le bon Dieu is de only wan can taike your love 

away; 
An when you raise som familee, in de coming bye 

and bye. 
You'll know for sure your marriage ain't started 

wid a lie; 
An de blossom in de springtam, an de fruit from 

such a tree. 
Will be de best, an sweetly smell for all eternity. 



DINNER A LA CARTE 

DE week behainde las week Ah go hon de toun 
For haul load of wood an taike a look roun, 
Wen a man he was ask me to go to dinnaire 
At fancy cafe where dey hav beel-o-faire. 

Dat felleure was fossay about dat dinnaire, 
But he don't care for money — he hav it to spare; 
So he order some cock-taile of wiskey an gin 
For fix up de ballay before we begin. 

Hees name was Joe Cannarde, hees well educate: 
He can read in de French an de Englishe firsrate, 
So he say it's de style for to eat a la carte, 
An would read of de beel joust to geeve me de 
start. 

Wael, he read hoff each ting hon dat programme to 

me — 
Ah ain't very strong hon dat beasness, you see: 
Dere was all kind of grub, all de joint, all de cut, 
Dere was everting dere from bouillon to nut. 

Dere was roasbeef, an mouton (dey call it spring- 
lam) , 

Dere was maud-hen an codfeesh, an sugar-cured 
ham, 

Dere was cornbeef an cabbauge, an goose liver fat, 

So Ah say, *'pleese" excoose me, Ah'll taike som 
mush-rat. 



Hees got a beeg plaice for to hold all hees food 
An he don mind de price, for dere's noting too 

good, 
But he only likes game wat was ripe, he tole me; 
So he calling for wood-cox an spark iDurgandie. 



4^ 



Dey bring heem dat bird hon a vere large plate; 
Shees dead a long tarn, but she suit heem firsrate, 
But de plate was so large, de wood-cox so small, 
Ah'm tinking mah fren would get netting at all. 

Mon Dieu! Dat ole wood-cox she hav a long beel. 
Ah see by de smell dat a long tam shee's keel, 
But her beel ain't so long as de beel hon de card 
Wat de waitaire was passing to mah fren, Cannarde. 

Mah mush-rat shees cook, "a la maitre d'otele," 

But any hole Frenchman can cook it as well, 

For we use plaentay honnion, for baste dem joust 

so; 
Den de rat maike de honnion more pleasant, you 

know. 

Ah'm not used to burgandie wine wid de food. 
Dat drink it's too fancay an rich for mah blood. 
Dat cock-taile was bad to begin wid, you know, 
But mah fren he won't lissen wen Ah tole heem so. 

Ah can drink wiskey blanc, an lauger beer too. 
Of "Jean Collin fiz" me — Ah've had quite a few, 
But wen Ah eat mush-rat an taike dose drink too. 
Ah never can tell wat dat mush-rat will do. 

Wael, we split a few quart of de spark burgandie, 

It's fizzay an livelay, an too strong for me. 

Wen Ah pass a few drink of dat wine hon mah 

moute 
Ah talk of dose ting Ah know notting about. 

Cannarde hees taike two tree bite at dat bird, 
He eat bones an all, an he don't say a word; 
Den he orders more wine, for a "chaser," he say — 
It's dose chaser wat chase me an catch me dat day. 

[27] 




TAKING THE CHASERS 



Den Ah say "Au revoir," for Ah must find mah way 
Back to de stabe, for to taike mah ponay. 
Dat wine an dat mush-rat ain't mix vere well, 
So de rest of mah story Ah ain't goin to tell. 

MORAL 
Pass bye de bur gandie -wine wid de spark 
If it's served in de bright light, or served in de 

dark; 
For you feel, wen you drink it, you own de whole 

toun, 
But youre broke de next day, an dey don't see you 

roun. 

An don taike no chance wid de wine wat was red, 
But stick to straight wiskey an lauger instead; 
For dose are de drink you can hold wen you eat, 
An you'll hold your grub also, an stand hon your 
feet. 




JOE LOZON, THE POT-HUNTER MAN 

YOU read of de bes fighting man of de day — 
Dere's beeg Kaisaire Beel, of de Prusse, 
He want everboday to do wat he say. 
It's de sam way wid Nick of de Russe. 

Dat Beel is de felleure wat hav de good tarn, 
De man on de horse wat draw de good pay, 

An he'll start up a war, an he don geev a dam 
If he taike all your brodder an cousin away. 



Beeg Beel was de bes faighting man, dey all say; 

It's hard to maike dat felleure run. 
For he knows de war baesness in all kind of way 

From de Zeppoleen bumb to de gaun, 

[29] 



Den you read of dose writer wat hav de good brain, 

Dose man wid de fine educate: 
Dere's Laurier Wilfred, an also Mark Twain, 

An som laike Beel Shakespeer firsrate. 

Dere's de swell cavalier — Mon Dieu ! hees so grande ! 

Hees dressing so gai an so fine; 
De duelle he'll faight, wid de sword in de hand. 

Wen hees chock-full of wiskey an wine. 

Den you read of de artiste, de musical man 

Wat play hon de flute or de fid, 
Or hon de French horn, or de babey pianne 

Or de man wid de stick in de mid. 



Wael, all dose faine felleure was good in dere way; 

Each wan do de most wat he can. 
But de bes all-roun felleure wat Ah know to-day 

Is Lozon, de Pot-hunter man. 

Dat Lozon's de boy wat know how to faight, 
De beeg man don't scare heem at all; 

He'll clean a saloon hon any ole naight: 
De longer dey go, de harder dey fall. 

An Joe hees de man can shoot hon de wing. 
He can trap any skaunk or mush-rat. 

An all de ole feesherman song he can sing — 
He'll paddle you naicely all over de Flat. 

Wael, Joe he don hav it so good educate. 
But can read an can write wen he wish: 

He'll write wid a pencil, in Francais firsrate 
An wid de sam pencil he'll write de Englishe. 

Wen Joe's in hees store clothes an fancy plog hat 
For go out at naight to de dance 



^renc^-Canadiai] Verse- 



At de plaice of ole Calimin, up at de Flat, 

Hees look laike a cavalier, coming from France. 

Wid plaentay of bear grease all over hees hair 
An white paper collar an fancay necktie, 

De ladays wat Josef was meeting up dere 
Was crazay for get interduce, bye an bye. 

An if de musician was drink too much beer 
An can't play de wals for de gal at de ball, 

Den Joe's at de fid, an dere's two tree cheer, 
Dat Pot-hunter Man is an artiste, dat's all. 

If de warden for gam he was coming along 
When Lozon was hunt hon de mash any day, 

Dat Joe he just smile, an he whissel a song, 
An de warden he don't ever ask heem to pay. 

Wael, Joe he go marry wid Julie Soleau 
An dey have a few children in saight. 

Joe feed it all well an he clodid also, 

An he don maike de habat to run round at 
naight. 

So you see, mah fine frend, wat Ah tole you was 
true: 

Dat Pot-hunter Joe is de bes man of all. 
Now you know all de ting wat dat bouillon can do, 

Just show me de man wat can answer dat call. 

MORAL 

De man hon de horse, if wid gold he be crowned, 
Wid all hees fine jewel an manners so swell, 

Is built de same way as de man on de ground 
Wat le bon Dieu was maike and was love heem 
so well. 



[31] 



Dose Zarr an dose Kaisaire will soon pass away, 
An de'll get no more chance for to start up a 
faight ; 
Den de poor common man will have someting to 
say 
An de man of de people is sure to be raight. 

Written in September, 1915. 



GENEALOGY OF BATTEECE TOURANGEAU 

AH'LL tell you of de story about mah famalee; 
• Mah educate shees not so good, so geeve 
excoose to me. 
Ah got no records from de book of wat Ah'm goin 

to say, 
But Ah geeve it as Ah hear it, in de vere saime ole 
way. 

To start wid, Ah will say mah name is Batteece 

Tourangeau, 
Mah blood shee's Francais Canayen on both de 

side, you know; 
No Tourangeau was king or queen, so far as Ah 

can tell, 
But maybe dey was hav some job, dey laike it 

joust as well. 




PIERRE TOURANGEAU 



Wael, Pierre Tourangeau, wat was die in de year 

eighteen-fifteen, 
Was sojer in de ole French Guard, dere's many 

faight hees seen; 
Was wid de great Napoleon, was brave ole man an 

true, 
But dey shoot heem an dey keel heem hon de field 

at Waterloo. 



Wael, dat ole man's de first we know of all de 

Tourangeau, 
An de recorde of dat sojer was de best ting we can 

show; 
He was de fadere of de fadere of mah ole dad, you 

see, — 
Ah'm proud dat such a sojer he could belong to me. 

Wael, de next wan we was hear about was de grand- 

fadere of me — 
Dat's Antoine Poleon Tourangeau, wat com to 

dees contree, 
Was charpentier wat build de ship from spring-tam 

to de fall, 
Was hon de dock wid ole Joe Beef, way down in 

Montreal. 




POLEON TOURANGEAU 



De next is Pete, mah fadere, as down de line you 

come; 
If you can trot wid mah ole man, ba gosh ! you was 

go some. 
Hees captaine of de scow "Noel," hees haul de sand 

and freight. 
He'll dance, he'll sing, he'll play de fid, an taike 

hees wiskey straight. 

34] 




CAPITAINE PETE TOURANGEAU 



Den come raight down to baesness, and taike a 

look at me: 
Ah'm Batteece Tourangeau, mon Ga! Ah pass de 

life so free. 
Ah spear de cat-feesh and Ah trap de beaver and 

mush-rat ; 
But better man den me, Ah hear, shees doing worse 

as dat. 






BATTEECE TOURANGEAU 



An wid mah good wife, Angelique, Ah leeve down 

hon de mash, 
Ah'm potter too and do mah best for maike de 

hones' cash. 
Ah got four gal an seven boy, and som more 

coming yet. 
So de Tourangeau dey ain't was die for a long, long 

tam you bet. 



Some tarn Ah geeve de storey of mah moddere's 

famalee, 
But dere's only wan of modere's crowd wat is de 

frend of me. 
You know de habitant, mah frend, wat keel it all 

de skaunk? 
Dats modere's brodder, Joe Moffron. You know 

it? She's mah hunk! 



But it's a fac, wen you look back, from de head 

wan to de tail. 
You hain't can find no Tourangeau wat's leeving 

in de jail. 
We dress laike all de habitants, no style was in de 

gang, 
But Ah can show no Tourangeau was ever got de 

hang. 

So you can see mah famalee was maike de start 

firstrate. 
But we must work; we have no chance to get de 

educate. 
So wan by wan we drift along, we leeve de best 

we can — 
We go to mass on Sunday, too, and don't rob any 

man. 



An now you know mah story; dere's nothing more 

to tell, 
But dere's mah home, and dere's mah wife, wat 

cook de grub so well. 
Now if you faind me good nuff for be a frend wid 

you, 
"Nevez cher nous ce soir, mon vieux," we have 

som mush-rat stew. 




OLE CHENEAU 



AH'LL NEVAIRE GO HUNT FOR DE 
MUSH-RAT NO MORE 



OLE CHENEAU go hunt for de mush-rat wan 
day; 
He tak hees dog Ponteau, to show heem de way, 
He got soaken wet, in de wataire he fall, 
Ah he don faine no game or no mush -rat at -all. 
Hees feeling deesgust, for hees not satisfy; 
Hees wet an hees getting so mad bye an bye 
Dat he say to hessef, as he cussed an he swore: 
"Ah'll nevaire go hunt for de mush-rat no more!" 

He wade tru de mash an he wade tru de hay 
Till he get purtay close where de mush-rat he lay; 
Hees dog's hon de point for dey all smell de game, 
So he up wid hees muskette an tak a good aim. 
As he pull hon de trig den he maike a beeg sneeze. 
An down in de wataire he go to hees knees. 



Den he say it out loud as he jaump hon de shore: 
"Ah'll nevaire go hunt for de mush-rat no more!" 

A beeg mallarde dock shes was sitting close by. 
Dat's luckay, for Cheneau's no good hon de fly, 
So he tak a good aim, but de gaun she don't go: 
De bullette she's wet an de pauder also. 
He ript an he cussed at de gaun an de pauder, 
Hees voice she go higher — an den she go lowder, 
Den he sai it all ovaire, more loud as before: 
"Ah'll nevaire go hunt for de mush-rat no more!" 

But de ole mallarde dock she sits hon de creek, 
So he sai, "Mistaire mallarde Ah'll show you de 

trick. 
Ah'll pass a few salt hon your fedder behaind — 
Ah'll fix you so easay dees tam, you will faind." 
But de dock smell de salt in Cheneau's tin pail, 
She hawl off her main sheet, an den she maike sail. 
De ole man he yelled, an he ript, and he swore: 
"Ah'll nevaire go hunt for de mush-rat no more!" 

Den he jaump in hees boat, hees mad an hees wet, 
Hees using som vere strong langage, you bet. 
He sai to ole Ponteau, "Ah want you to know 
Ah'm de boss of dees mash, an mah name is Che- 

neaul" 
Wile he paddle so lively hees baump hon a log 
An ovaire goes Cheneau, de gaun, an de dog. 
Den he holler lackell an he holler encore : 
"Ah'll nevaire go hunt for de mush-rat no more!" 



He climb hon de bottome, for help he was call. 
He sai, "Ah go drown wid mah muskette an all.' 
Som habitant hear all de noise an de splash 
An Batteece, hees son, he com down to de mash. 



He pull out de dog an he pull out Cheneau, 
But he loos hees ole gaun in de channel below. 
Batteece sai, "pawpaw, your so safe hon de shore — 
Don't hunt hon de mash for dose mush-rat no 
more!" 

He spread hon de grass hees shirt an hees pants — 
Dey dry in de sun if you geev it de chance, 
But a beeg hurricane she was passing close by: 
She pick up dose pants an she blow it sky high. 
Wen Cheneau he notice hees pants in de air, 
He sai, "We'll go home while de wind she be fair. 
Au diable wid de mash! Ah '11 keep hon de shore! 
Ah'll nevaire go hunt for de mush-rat no more!" 



Hees waife grab de hole man an put heem to bed 
Wid two-tree flat iron hon top of hees head, 
She pass hon de shin bone som muster plastaire, 
She rub heem wid kerosine oil everywhere. 
She geev heem som sassaperell wid de spoon. 
Den he sai as he open hees eye purtay soon : 
"Such luck hon de mash, Ah don't hav it before 
To hell wid de mush-rat! Ah'll hunt heem no 
more!" 



A STORY OF THE MARSH 

IF you go hon de mash, at de edge near de weed, 
Where de mud she was black an de cow com to 
feed. 
If it's joust befor sun-set an twilight was near 
De Henglishe jack-snap he was sure to appear. 

He don't sing a song like de rest of de bird, 
But he hav a sharp whissel as ever you heard. 
Like de squeak ho de hinge of de ole kitchen door 
When you com in so sofly, between tree an four. 

He hav som long beel, an long leg as well, 
Wid hees eye hon de top of hees head he can tell 
If som-boday com to de mash from de shore, 
For he see joust as well from behind as before. 

If de wind she was blow from de nort in de fall, 

Dat petit oiseaux he don't care, not at all. 

When hees done wid hees slow prominade hon de 

mash 
He'll fly trou dat heavy north wind like a flash. 

Bapteme! hees fly crooked, an up an doun too; 
If you watch, you can't tell wat dat felleure will do. 
Do you tink you're a good man to shoot hon de fly? 
Wael, load up your shot-gun, an wait dere an try. 

You point de gun strait, wid de bead hon de bird — 
But perhaps of dat job, you already hav heard — 
An joust when you're sure dat you've got heem for 

fair. 
You pull hon de trig, — but de snap she ain't dere. 

In all de beeg citay, Joe Lozon tole me. 
In de fines hotele in de town, you can see, 



^venc^- Cana diat] VersQ- 

4 r- 




THE SNIPE HUNTER 



If you look hon de programe, dey call beel-a-faire 
De name of de Henglishe jack-snap, she is dere. 



Joe say, in dose plaice, if you like snap to eat, 
Two dollaire dey charged you for wan hon de plate. 
De price she go high, in de spring an de fall. 
But dere charging you only for style, dat is all. 



But remember, mah fren, dat de fool ain't all dead 
(Ahtink dat's de lanquage,BeelShakspeerehesaid) ; 
But de man wat will pay such a price for wan 

bird 
Hees gone off de nut, you will pardon de word. 



But why should a man want a bird wat's so lean 
When for mouch cheaper price he can hav pork 

an bean, 
Or corn-beef an caubage, or galette or pie? 
But Ah guess dere's no tarn when a man's satisfy. 



MORAL 

Each felleure hav som kind of grub wat he like: 
Dere's som like de cat-feesh, de bullhead, or pike. 
A few like de Shipeau and maud-hen also, 
An a good many man like de leetle crapaud. 



But if you feel hongray, an want a good meal; 
Please take mah advice: it's joust how Ah feel- 
Joust pass by de feesh an de frog an all dat, 
An order mah leetle ole fren, de mush-rat. 



MY DEAR OLD DAD 



ON your cheeks the lines of care, 
Your eyes have lost their radiance rare, 
And dimness shades the lustre there. 

It makes me sad 
To see you wave and bend at last, 
A storm-subdued and withered mast 
Wrecked by the tempests of the past — 
My dear old Dad. 

Long since the dawn has passed away, 
The mid-day sun has shed its ray, 
And night is closing on the day. 

It seems too bad 
That such a perfect work of clay 
Should blossom only for a day 
And end in pitiful decay — 

My dear old Dad. 

Oh, God! Let nothing part us now; 

To serve his every whim, please tell me how. 

In humble supplication, thus I bow 

With only this to add: 
That in return for all his love of me 
Staunch and faithful to the last I'll be. 
He shall not end in lonely misery — 

My dear old Dad. 




THE OLD-TIME FISHING 
ON DETROIT RIVER 

DE hole tarn fisherman hees gone, 
We ain't see it no more; 
We loose dem slowly wan by wan, 
Dere passing from our shore. 

Doun below from Sandweech toun. 

Way doun to Petit Cote, 
So many you could see aroun 

De hole tam shaintay an de boat. 



Up to de fall of seexty-hate 
De feeshing it was all O. K. 

Along de Reever of de Strait, 

Dere feeshing all de naight and day. 



^renc^- Canadiar\ Verso- 



Dey catch de tourgeon and dore 
An de whitefeesh all de tarn 

An wat you spose dat cost you, eh! 
Wan poisson blanc for haf a dime. 



An dere's de hole tarn shaintay. 

An de man wat set de float, 
De capstaine an de ponay. 

An de man wat pulls de boat. 



An dere dey go at sunset; 

Dere's four man at de oar: 
Dere's Covion and Joe Payette, 

Dere's Nadeau and Bedore. 



Pete Valliquette hees at de stern, 
Hees passing out de net, 

Drouilliard hees at de capstaine 
Wid hees French ponay, you bet. 



So softly up de stream dey row 

Tree hunderd yard or more, 
Dey make de turn an roun dey go 

Raight past de shaintay hon de shore. 



De seine is set, you see de float, 

De trip for shore it won't take long. 

An den dose Frenchman in dat boat 
Dey sing dees hole French song: 



"Votx seule,J>uis la reprise en cliaur. 



En rou-lant ma bou - le rou-lant, En rou-Iant ma 
FIN. •) Voix seule, reprise en chmur. 



bou - le. 



Der - rier, chez nous, ya - tun e - tang, 
Voix seule. 




vont baignant, rou - li roulant, ma boule roulant. 



Count de stroke as you hear de song, 

Keep up de tarn, hole man; 
You'll like de tune, it won't take long. 

Now sing wid me, Ah'm sure you can. 



Wan, two, tree, and wan, two, tree, 
An den agan and den some more. 

Den wan, two, tree, de song's finis — 
Dere landing at de shore. 

Agan dere at de shaintay, 

Dere jaumping from de yawl; 

Dere sure to faind it plaentay 
Of whitefeesh in dat hawl. 



An den you see de chaudiere. 
In de shaintay always hot; 

All dose fisherman was dere 

To eat de bouillon from de pot. 



^renc^-Canadiaty Vevse- 

Dey light de pipe, an taike a drop, 
Den Covion was geeve de call. 

We ain't gat tarn for long to stop — 

Look sharp, mah boy, for nodder hawl! 

Helas! dose tarn she com no more. 
For dose good man she's pass away. 

Ah hope dere hon som odder shore 
Where de feeshing's good to-day. 

If fisherman wat's in de ciel 

Can hear our voices down below. 

No musique dey would love so well 
As dees ole song of long ago. 



yotx setde,J>uis la reprise en cIiorut. 



En rou-lant ma bou - le rou-lant, En rou-Iant ma 
FIN. •) Voix seule, reprise en ckceur. 



Der - rier, chez nous, ya - t-un 6 - tang, 
Voix seule. 




vont baignant, rou - li roulant, ma boule roulant. 







TWILIGHT 
Lake Ste. Clair 

THE MAN AT THE BOW 

WAN scow com sail down de reever Saint Clar, 
Timber an cordwood her deck load waer, 
An she sailed so merrily over de barre 
Into de waters of Lac Saint Clar. 

Twilaight shees falling, de sky was at rest, 
Softly de wind she was blow from de west, 
An de scow break de ripple of water in two 
Wile she skipping raight over dat lac so blue. 

In de mist dere's a man can be seen hon de scow: 
Hees leaning raight over de rail at de bow, 
Wile hees singing a song of de long tam ago 
Wat he learn in Quebec, in de Bas-ville below. 

^48] 



yrencfy- Canadiar\ VevsQ- 

4 r 



Den a man from de mash he was paddle dat way: 
Hees a potter wat's been in hees canoe all day. 
An de song from de scow it was fall hon hees ear 
An it takes heem way back to hees modder so dear. 

Dat's a Frenchman wat's singing dat sweet melodie, 
An he sings it so true, an he sings it so free; 
An de man from de mash hees a Frenchman also, 
So he follows de song in a voice soft an low. 

Den de potter he taikes hees ole hat from hees head, 
Hees paddle no more, an hees drifting instead; 
An agan it's de voice dat he hears from afar 
As it floats hon de waters of Lac Saint Clar. 

Dose two Canayen wat was drifting apart 
Are from de saime contree, an have de saime heart, 
An de poor potter smile wid hees eye full of tear, 
An dees was de song wat de potter man hear: 




Lui ya long - temps que je t'aime, Jamais, je ne foublierai. 



De scow it was fading away from hees sight, 
For de twilaight shees falling fas into de night; 
But de pottere's still dere wid hees hat in hees 

hand 
An hees drifting an drifting away from de land. 

Hees been dreaming of all dose dear one of de past, 
An hees waking up slow from hees vision at last. 
Still he hears de faint voice of de man at de bow, 
Den de song is a memory, it's gone wid de scow. 

"Au revoir, mon garcon," de poor potter-man say, 
"Dat song tak me back for a vere longe way." 
Den hees waiving hees hat in salute to de scow 
An hees wish heem "Bon voyage," dat man at de 
bow. 



[50] 



(oOg) 



A LESSON IN TABLE MANNERS 

PETE RABIDEAU get marry wid a waife from 
off de state, 
Shee's Yankay gal, wid plaentay style, he laike dat 

gal firsrate; 
Shee's blue ballay from Massachu, shee's educate 

quite well, 
Poor Pete was joust de habitant, hees waife was 
vere swell. 

Pete bring her back to Canadaw, to leeve in 

Montreal ; 
Dey get dere ting togedder for keep house in de 

fall; 
Hees proud about de way she look, an de way she 

cook also, 
For she can maike de best bake bean of any wan 

he know. 




(r>OT) 



Wen Pete was hon de French Reevaire he push de 

lumber raff 
An get acquaint wid wan bouillon, hees name was 

Joe LaBaff. 
Wan day he ask heem to hees house to hav de 

good dinnaire, 
Hees sure hees waife will hav de bean, for firsclass 

beel-a-faire. 



Hees waife she learn in Boston to maike de Boston- 
bean; 

She maike it soft, she maike it brown, she also 
maike it clean. 

So Joe LaBaff he taike hees seat, raight wid de 
familee, 

An every ting she go all raight, as far as Pete can see. 



She bring de bake bean hon de tabe. L' enfant ! dat 

was look fine! 
Pete say de grace an few ting more; dey dring a 

leetle wine. 
An every wan was hongree, wid de best of appitite, 
An Pete he do hees possibel to treat dat Joe polite. 



But wat you spose dat Joe he do? He can't wait 

for de rest — 
He don't use knife or fork at all, he laike hees own 

way best, 
So he grab dose bean wid both de hand, to push it 

down dat way; 
Of course dat gal from Boston was quickly faint away. 



Dat Joe La Baff, of de lumber raff, still gobbel at 

dose bean, 
He push it in hees face so fast, de worse you never 

seen. 
De bean she dissapear so quick dere was no odder 

way, 
So Pete he hav to call heem, an dees is wat he say: 



"Mah waife she maike as good bake bean as any 

boday's waife, 
But she never see your style for eat befor in all 

her laife. 
So if you ain't quite satisfy, an need dose bean 

encore, 
You use your knife, you ain't can pass your hand 

on it no more. 



Ah see som lumber-jack befor, also som deck-hand 
too. 

But Ah never see a Canayen wat eat so bad as you. 

Ah spose you was too ignorante to know joust wat 
Ah mean, 

But your spoiling all de companee, an your spoil- 
ing all de bean." 



For long tam after dat affaire, Pete Rabideau hees 

try 
To maike excoose for Joe La Baff, but hees waife 

ain't satisfy. 
She com from Boston, Massachu, where dey' breed 

de etiquette; 
She ain't forget dat insult for long long tam, you 

bet! 



But Pete was always good to her in every odder 

way, 
Hees try to please her after dat, but still dere's 

hell to pay, 
Till wan faine day he bring her home a diamonde 

carrotte ring. 
An now she's happy an content, an all de tarn she 

sing. 



THE RACE AT PETIT COTE 

DID you ever saw mah ponay — 
De wan wat win de race? 
She's hon de cutter every day, 
She maike de rack an pace. 

She's only fair French ponay, 

She hav no padda-gree; 
Her color was de ches-not bay 

But shee's good nuff for me. 

"Catin" was mah ponay 's name 

(De saime as ba-bee doll) ; 
Across de Grande Marais she came, 

She's five year hole las fall. 

Gouleau's got a pacing horse, »|» 

Ban Butlaire was hees name; '"^ 

He bring it over from Ecorse, 
From Meechegane he came. 

Gouleau he always maike de blow 

About hees gait an paddagree; 
Dat felleure try it hard to show 

Hees plog could maike de two-tortee. 

He say hees modder was a dam, 

De fadere was a sire 
Wat win de race mos every-tam. 

Was full of blood an fire. 

He hav a ceefecate to show 

Hees fadere it was de Pilot R. 
An also dat hees dam could go. 

For dat was Floray Temp de star. 



We ain't see Floray for long tarn, 
An Pilot long ago was die. 

Ba gosh! Ah tink dat dam an sire 
Was Gouleau's dam beeg lie. 

Mah fren Cicotte from Wyandotte 

Was tole me hon de sly 
De record wat dat plog hees got — 

You'll hear de finish by an by. 

He say dat some wan was a liar; 

For he see hees racker long ago— 
He pull de hengine to de fire 

In de good ole citay of Munroe. 

Hees gallop for de fire brigade, 
De force was like heem well; 

Hees hon de job, so Cicotte said, 
Till some -wan rings de bell. 

An den he say de dev's to pay, 
Dat bell was change hees mind: 

He'll turn an go som odder way — 
An leave de fire brigade behind. 

For he was hongrey all de day, 
Hees hongrey all de naight — 

De corn, de bean, de bran, de hay, 
Hees gobble everting in sight. 

Hees appetite she can't be beat. 
For hees always feel so well. 

Hees sure dat was de tam to eat 
Wen some wan rings de bell. 



Gouleau was start agan to holler 
Dat Ban, hees pacing horse, 

Would beat mah ponay for tree dollar- 
Ah cover up de bet, of course. 

Dat was to be de two-mile race 
At Petit-Cote, along de shore. 

No trot, no gallop, joust de pace. 
Tree dollar cash, an notting more. 

You know de road by Jeem MacKee? 

At de bank shee's turning round. 
Dat's de plaice, we was agree, 

Would be de starting ground. 

Den doun de reever we must go 
For two mile straight, no more. 

To Louie Youngeblod's plaice below — 
De poplaire tree was hon de shore. 

De week behind las Saturday 

We fix it for de go. 
De wedder she was frostay 

De hice was cover wid de snow. 



We bring de ponay s to de scratch. 

All de habitant was dere. 
Dey put dere monay hon de match; 

Dere betting freelay hon mah mare. 

"Dees be de race for pace an rack," 
Joe Covion, de judge, hees say. 

"So clar de way! Gott off de trak! 
We start de ponays raight away." 



Den neck an neck we start to go, 

But de judge say, "Start wance more!" 

We off agan, hees calling "Whoa! 
Start off agan, same as before." 

We're off at last, an hon de speed. 

L'enfant! dat was som pace! 
Ah'm trying hard to take de lead. 

But ole Ban still was in de race. 

De snow she fly as we pass by, 

Mah ponay try to show de way. 
But to see dat ole Ban Butlaire fly 

You'd tink dere was a fire dat day. 

Neck an neck we're pacing fast, 
„| We're hon de plaice of Tom MeLoche; j 

I" Ah do mah best, Ah can't get past »f 

Dat ole-tam hengine horse, 

De habitant call from de shore 

An geeve de cheer, as we pass bye. 

"Avance, Catin!" "Avance, encore!" 
"Wake up! wake up, ole Ban!" dey cry. 

Ba gosh! Ah never see such race — 

Raight togedder side by side 
Dey go two-tortee hon de pace; 

For taike de lead each ponay tried. 

De Taverne Rouge we're going past, 

Neck an neck, an all was well; 
Ban Butlaire he was going fast 

Wen de cook she ring de bell. 




Den Ban he break, he break some more, 
"Whoa done!" hees driver yell. 

He turn an gallop for de shore 
An still de cook she ring de bell. 



Wid me, Ah finish hon de pace; 

Dey cheer as Ah pass by. 
De judge decide Ah win de race 

For ole Ban was deesqualify. 



"Dat's put op job," Gouleau he say, 
"Cicotte's de wan can tell — 

Dat's heem wat pay de cook dat day 
To ring dat dinner bell." 




MY DOG FRANCOIS! 

AH miss mah dog Franswa, in town yesterday, 
■ An Ah wait for heem all tru de naight. 
So Ah put advertise hon de pape raight away; 
Ah hope purtay soon dat he'll com back all raight. 



De notice below dat's about mah Franswa — 
Jules Bondie was write it in Englishe firsrate; 

So Ah wait for de news an Ah wonder pourquoi 
Dat Franswa ain't meetin me now at de gate. 



THE NEWSPAPER NOTICE 

Ah loos it mah dog, or hees stole in de street. 
In de crowd at de court-house at noon; 

Hees full toro-bred an a hard dog to beat, 

Ah'll pay de man well wat will bring heem back 
soon. 

Hees smart leetle felleure, wid white shaggy hair, 
Wid a ring running roun hon de hend of hees tail ; 



^vene^-Canadiat) VersQ- 



If you call heem Franswa he will go anywhere, 
Hees a gentleman dog, an not a female. 

Ah'm poor habitant wid no monay to spare 

But de man wat will bring it dat dog back to me, 

Ah'll pay for hees keep, an Ah'll pay de car-fare; 
Ah'll ask heem no question, whoever he be. 



Ah tink mah fren Bondie was tole wan beeg lie 
Wen he sai in dat notice mah dog's toro-bred. 

So Ah ask heem de reason an he tole me why 
An dees is exactly wat Bondie he said: 

"De breed of a man don't show trou hees clothes. 

If dere made of de broadcloth or Canaday grey. 
He can look vere well an dere's nobodday knows; 

So you geev heem de benfit — dere's no odder 
way. 

For de real gentile-homme he don have to blow 
To prove wat de fadere of heem use to be. 

If hees hon de square dat's de bes breed to show. 
Den you don't waste de tam, for to look up hees 
tree." 

An Bondie he sai wid a dog it's de same: 
No sign hon de fur of de breed you can see 

Or wedder hees fadere or modere's to blame, 
For all kind of dog have de same kind of flea. 

Ah believe dat is true wat Bondie tole me. 

An Ah'm glad for to know dat Ah am wat Ah am. 

Dere's many good point in mah dog. Ah can see. 
Ah'll bet hon Jule Bondie, hees raight every tam. 

[61] 



Mah dog has no modere to show heem de way 
An no politish for to fix heem a plaice, 

So if Ah should leev heem in trouble today 

An nevaire could look dat poor dog in de face. 



It's a long tarn, mah fren, dat Ah'm waiting to 
hear, 

Twilaight shees coming to close out de light; 
He must be wid stranger or he would appear. 

Ah wonder if Franswa will come home to-night? 



Stop! Wait a minnet! who's dat at de door? 

Who's pushing it open an jaumping raight in? 
It es — it es Franswa who! crawls hon de floor; 

Hees trying to tell me just where he has been. 



"Enough my dog Franswa, don't spik any more, 
For now Ah am happy an satisfy too. 

No more will you wander away from mah door, 
An nevaire agan will we part, me an you." 



MORAL 



The poor friendly dog so faithful and true 

Is willing to share all your troubles with you; 

At your slightest affront he will growl, he will 

fight, 
He'll follow your footsteps from morn until night. 
It's not for the gold, nor for glory or pride. 
That he's wistfully wagging his tail by your side: 
He's craving for just a slight notice from you; 
A pat on the head or a soft word will do. 



He's more than repaid for his kindness and care 
With the bone or the crust that will fall to his 

share, 
And he meekly and silently bows to the frown 
With sorrowful eye and with tail hanging down. 
But his troubles are over as soon as you smile, 
He's watching the look on your face all the while. 
For friendship so rare, for affection so true, 
Just give him a smile — it's the least you can do. 



A LEGEND OF DETROIT RIVER 

BOUT fortay, feeftay year ago, dey run a side- 
wheel ferry 
Along de Strait wat separate Lac Saint Claire from 

Lac Erie. 
Ask som ole-tam habitant, if your knowing som 

of dem, 
Dey'll tell you bout dees story of de leetle steamer 
Gem. 

She hav som fancay smok-stac, an a pilot house 

also, 
Dere's wheel inside de paddle box to mak dat 

vassalle go. 
Widdout a skip, she mak de trip from Detroit, 

Meechegane, 
Across to Wainsorr, Canaday, an com raight back 

agane. 

Captaine Tom, of de leetle Gem, was wan good 

sailor too, 
Could run de hengine, trow de rope, dere's nothing 

he can't do. 
An any gal wat's looking well, don't hav to pay 

som fare — 
Hees laike de laday, Captaine Tom, an for de cash 

don care. 

About dees tam de ole Barnam was com trou Cana- 
day, 

De ciercass leeve Belle Reever, because de job don 
pay; 

So down de hill in Wainsorr Town ole Barnam 
bring hees show; 

He want to pass across de creek as fast as he can 
go. 



Hees geeve salute to Captain Tom: "Cap, how she 

go wid you?" 
"Ah feel O. K.," de Captain say, "an Ah'm going 

firs-rate too!" 
"Wat you charge for bring mah show across to 

Meechegane?" 
"For twentay dollar Ah will move de whole dam 

caravane." 



Captaine Tom call to hees mate — hees name was 
Billideau — 

To load de hanimal hon de Gem as fast as he can 
go; 

So he drive de caravane hon board, wid de ring- 
man an de clown, 

An Billideau get much excite, as he roll hees eye 
aroun. 



For you must know dat Billideau was only common 

mate. 
Could handle horse or cow or goat, an do de job 

firsrate ; 
But when he see dat ciercass wat's hon de Gem dat 

day 
Hees sure before dey mak de shore de dev will be 

to pay. 

Dere's el-fante wat was white lak snow, dere's 

zebera an geeraff, 
Som lion an som tiger too, an golden-headed 

calf, 
He see som clown, also som mule, also som 

buffalo. 
An he see dose lovly laday too, wat's acting in de 

show. 

[65] 
(pOt) 







But de most expenseeve hanimal wat's hon de Gem 
dat day 

Is de first an only hippopot wat com to dees con- 
trey. 

He com dees way from Africay, wid Barnam long 
before, 

An Barnam say dat felleure way ten tousand poun 
or more. 



De Gem she tak dem half-way cross dat beautiful 

reever, 
Where de wataire she was clear and blue — but 

maybe you was dere — 
When de tiger scratch de lion behainde, dat scare 

de buffaloo, 
An de el-fante blow hees trompette, an bust up 

all de show. 



^ yrencf\^-Canadiai\VerSQ- 



Dat hippopot, since he was brot from de mash in 

Africay, 
Don't hav no tarn for wash hessef since he left home 

dat day. 
He see de fight, an get excite, while de caravane 

she roared. 
An de wataire looked so good to heem, he jaump 

raight overboard. 

Hees grunt was lak de tondaire, for dey feel it hon 

de shore. 
He shake hees tail, an mak de dive, an don't com 

up no more. 
Ole Barnam swear an pull hees hair, he almos mak 

de fit, 
But Captaine Tom laugh hon hees face, an mak de 

ole man quit. 

t 

When de leetle Gem she reach de foot of Wood- 
ward Avenue, 

Ole Barnam pull wan roll of beel, de first ting dat 
he do. 

Wan tousand dollar he will geeve, an a bran new 
coat an pants. 

To de man wat catch dat hippopot, but no wan 
tak de chance. 



Dose gennelmans about de dock, dey com down to 

de shore — 
Dere's Captaine Pridge, an Beel E-nasse, an also 

Artaire Gore, 
Dere's Beeg Tom Reath an Captain Horn, an 

Connay Scanlan too, 
An Captain King wid a new plog hat, in a fancay 

suit of blue. 



[67] 



4 



Wael, all dose felleure know de reever and de 

currant wael, 
But how to trap dat hippopot, dere's none of dem 

can tell. 
Den Barnam buy a glass for spy, from Mistaire 

Fox down dere. 
An de ole man's looking up an down de reever 

everywhere. 



Tree day was passing since dat hip was jaumping 

from dat boat 
An Pete Nadeau was sitting hon de shore at Petit 

Cote, 
Dat's joust below ole Sandweech, hon de side of 

Canaday, 
Where dey raise de finest radishe wat's in dees 

whole contray. 



Nadeau was hon hees capstaine he fix hees cat- 

feesh line; 
Hees feel content an satisfy, for de feeshing dere 

was fine. 
But when he lift hees eyebrow to look out hon de 

reever 
Ba gosh! mah fren, he see somting wat mak dat 

bouillon sheever. 

He hear a grunt wat's sounding lak a cannon shot 

close by, 
An de reever rise, de reever fall, de wave shees 

running high; 
An purtey soon, lak beeg balloon, wid uglay eye 

an nose, 
Dat hippopot expose hessef, an from de wataire 



[68] 



Wael, Pete's so scare, he cross hessef, but dere's no 

tarn to pray; 
For hees sure de dev' shees com at last to tak heem 

raight away. 
An while dat dam ole hippopot was making for de 

shore 
Nadeau was making for de bush, for he ain't stay 

dere no more. 



Som of de ole tarn habitant wat's leeving down dat 

way 
Dey see dat ugley hanimal while he prominade 

roun dat day. 
Dere sure de world com to de hend an finish up for 

fair, 
An dere off for Reever au Canard, to find de priest 

down dere. 



When de hippopot was satisfy dat he scare dem 

all away, 
He find de plaice de radishe grow, an dere he spend 

de day. 
He eat de radishe wat was ripe, an de radishe wat 

was green, 
Befor he finish up de job, he eat de radish clean. 



You know, mah fren, de radishe, dat's not for 
steady meal — 

You eat a few, and dat will do, an den de gas you 
feel. 

An when dat hongrey hippopot eat all de radishe 
dere. 

He swell so fas from all de gas he can't move any- 
where. 



^rencfy- Can adiat] Versa- 



He does hees eye, hees hon de ground, he won't 

got up so soon, 
For de gas from all dose radishe would fill a beeg 

balloon. 
Was dat de sound of hurricane? Wat's coming 

down de shore? 
Wael, no. Dat's joust de hippopot, hees letting 

go de snore. 

Down comes de ole man Barnam wid a doctaire of 

de horse, — 
It's Doctaire Rippe, de vetrenaire, de best man in 

Ecorse. 
He use a pump, he use a saw, he also use a truss, 
For de doctaire faind hees much congest inside hees 

soffacuss. 

So Barnam get hees reever horse, an start back 

for de show. 
He cross de creek wid Captaine Forbe hon de ferry 

boat Argo. 
Dose habitant wat get excite, dey all com back 

next day. 
An since dat tam no hippopot was coming down 

dat way. 

Poor Pete Nadeau, away she go, from good ole 

Petit Cote, 
No more feeshing net for Pete, an no more feesh- 

ing boat. 
Hees hon de inland farm, dey say, bout twelve 

mile from de shore, 
Hees satisfy to tak no chance hon de reever bank 

no more. 

NOTE. — It is true that in the sixties, while a wild-beast 
show was being transported across Detroit River, a hippo- 
potamus plunged from a steamer and remained in the river 
for three days. 



THE HABITANT'S LAMENT 

HON de farm of mah fadere, at de tnarais below, 
Dat's de plaice Ah was born me, a long tarn 
ago. 
De ole house she stands hon de side of de hill — 
Ah wish de ole crowd was all leeving dere still. 
Ah see de ole home as Ah close up de eye: 
Mah modere so dear, an mah fadere clos bye. 
But none of dose dear wan was roun me today; 
It's too bad de ole tam she's all past away. 

Wen we husk it de corn, or to dance we would go, 

Wid de ponay we drive in de cart or traineau. 

De boy an de gal dey would spark at de gate, 

Dere singing of love till de hour she was late. 

All mah brodder an cousin an friend was aroun. 

Every wan was acquaint wid de odder in town, 

An we smoke de clay pipe wid de Canaday Grey — § 

Ah'm sorry de ole tam she's all past away. 

Wen we go to de citay, for tak in de show, 
At de Hopperaw House, or de ciercasse you know, 
De citay she's quiet, lak de peep wat you meet; 
You can drive you're French ponay all over de 

street. 
An if you walk roun, you can be your own boss — 
De cop of de traffic don't pull you across. 
Wid your pant in your boot, you're walking all 

day; 
It's too bad de ole tam she's all past away. 

Dere's no motor-ceeke for to mak your jaump 

roun — 
Dose felleure wat go lak de dev' trou de town. 
You cross de street off en, it's joust how you feel. 
An you don't hear de bark from de automobile. 






A CALL ON RABIDEAU 



No lectricetay she was hon de street car, 
But de car wid de ponay will pull you as far; 
Ah tink, as Ah'm looking aroun me to-day, 
It's too bad de ole tarn she's all past away. 

An now wen Ah tak mah good ponay wid me 
An drive to de citay, mah frend for to see, 
Ah always mak visit to Pete Rabideau, 
Wat keep a saloon, an a hotele also. 
Den we have a few drink of de Walkerville Rye 
An hees read me de news from de pape bye an bye, 
But Ah'm not satisfy. In mah ole fashion way, 
Ah'm sorry to see all de change, Ah must say. 



De tam she was change, an changing for fair, 
Dey say dere's som felleure wat fly in de air 
For two tousand mile, to de New York Citay, 
An finish de trip fore de close of de day. 



Dere's de diving boat "U," she don't com up at all, 

She traval below, from de spring to de fall. 

Wat's going to becom of de peep? Ah should 

say — 
It's too bad de ole tarn she's all past away. 

Dere's dose picture wat's moving aroun at de 

show, 
A man wid a crank he can start dem to go; 
An dey walk an dey talk, and dey laugh an dey 

smile. 
An som of dem sing in de very best style. 
An wen dose man die, dere voice is still strong 
An at dere own funeral, can sing dere own song. 
Bapteme! dere was noting you're sure of today — 
It's too bad de ole tam she's all past away. 

Dey say if som felleure in Sout-Africay 

Was hav a few dollar in monay to pay -f 

He can spic to hees gal in Detroit, Meechegane, 

An de gal she can spic to it, raight back agane. 

Dose voice hon de air, trou de windmill she go 

Dat's seex tousand mile, mah good frend, you know. 

Mon Dieu! Wen Ah hear such a news. Ah must 

say. 
It's too bad de ole tam she's all past away. 

Pete tole me som cannon can trow out de ball 
Wat go tortay mile before she was fall; 
An if dat ball bust, an you're standing close bye. 
You're gone for dey don geeve you tam for to die. 
Dere's a very bad war, where tree million or two 
Was loose all dere life, joust for noting, dat's 

true. 
An de poor common man, she hav noting to say — 
It's a shame dat de ole tam she ain't here today. 



^renef\-Canadiar\ Verse- 



Ah've no educate, an mah brain is too slow, 
Or maybe Ah don't understand it, you know; 
But it makes me feel bad, an Ah'm also excite, 
De world she is changing from day tam to naight. 
She's going so crazay, she's going so fast, 
Le bon Dieu, will stop de whole beesness at last. 
So Ah'll stay hon de mash, dere'll be hell to pay — 
It's too bad de ole tam she's all past away. 




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